


Harry Potter and the Struggle of His Own

by seokyun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 19:28:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16352789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seokyun/pseuds/seokyun
Summary: When young Harry Potter is faced by a full year of obstacles and terror, he has to swallow his own fear and find his courage - time after time. Is it that easy? How can he manage? Why does he feel so alone?The year of the Goblet of Fire lies ahead.





	Harry Potter and the Struggle of His Own

It was how he walked, how he proceeded, how he acted and how he lived. It was him, his choices, his actions, his responsibilities. His failures, his lessons which he chose to learn and the others to ignore; it was he, himself, and him; no one else, and nothing else.

It was something that slapped him in the face every now and when he could nearly feel myself floating along life, not a thing slowing him down and not a soul managing to utter ugly enough words to bring him down. He was euphoric. He was flying, and did not wish to even imagine touching the ground again - he wanted to stay like this. But he couldn't. 

At night it was something else. His existence was something else. During the day he couldn't care about it. It managed to present itself as a bad dream - maybe if he won't think about it, he won't see it again. Maybe if he ignores it, he will forget it. Imagination does work with your memory, doesn't it? 

During the night he had to face it all.

He couldn't forget. He was forced to turn and toss in bed for hours. He was forced to groan in annoyance every night, second, minute, hour ticking menacingly in the clock on the wall in his bedroom. It wasn't what made him annoyed - it was why and how. It was how he couldn't control it. "You have issues with your temper," he'd be told instead of anyone offering him an understandable, actually helpful explanation. And so he stayed up those dark nights, wondering if he felt enough anger at the world for it to affect his sleep so severely. 

The sleepless nights caught up. The land of Shangri-La he was trying to desperately reach every day after 10 PM was out of his hands, his control and his wishes. It was the nightmares.

How ridiculous, right? 

He was already 14 years old and yet so pathetic. 

Good thing that he didn't still wet his bed. That kind of belonged into the same category with nightmares. What children went through. And to admit it, he was already 14! Not 4. It made him clutch my blanket in anger. How tragic was he?

What a pitiful case he was, 14 years old, pained by nightmares, and cursed by the name Harry Potter. 

He covered my head with his thin blanket and furrowed his brows, a rush of rage washing over his sense of reason. 

He heard the floor creak outside the door and immediately flattened himself against the hard mattress, just before his uncle Vernon peeked his fat head into the room to make sure he wasn't "cursing the family" as he'd phrased earlier as a reasoning to his stalking at night time. 

He took a deep breath and slammed the door closed, cussing under his breath something about hidden rule breaking.

And so the night continued; and by the morning the bottoms of his eyes were nearly darker than the birdnest of hair on his head, had he spent the night clutching he forehead in agony again; then he realised there was no escape, at least not until September. 

Waiting was something he was good at.

So he continued.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Any kind of feedback would be greatly appreciated. 
> 
> Have a delightful day. :-)


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